


Let's you and I be friends

by Mordhena



Series: Crowley is Asmodeus Headcanon [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I didn't expect this story to have another chapter. Maybe there will be more yet, but I am saying this is 2/2 because I don't know for sure that there's more. Anyway, this came to me, so I wrote it.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley is transfixed. Flat on his back, staring helplessly up at the creature that perches on the edge of the desk, gazing down on him. It's Castiel's face, but oddly twisted. Crowley can feel the power radiating off him.

His mother lies dead mere feet away and Crowley is afraid to move lest he be next.

"Oh, c'mon." Lucifer tilts his (Castiel's) head to one side. "Do you really think you'd still be breathing if I wanted you dead?"

There's a point. Crowley glances away, letting his eyes flick around the chamber in hopes of seeing some avenue of escape. It doesn't occur to him to try teleporting. His attention snaps back to Lucifer when the archangel leans forward, looming over him.

"Don't even think about it." He offers Crowley a hand. "Stand up."

Crowley ignores the hand and gets to his feet unaided. He brushes down his suit, smoothing out the rumples. One eye remains on Lucifer throughout. He flinches and stumbles back a pace when the archangel stands up suddenly.

A cocky lopsided grin twists Castiel's features and Lucifer steps forward. He closes the gap between them, and crowds Crowley against the wall. Crowley realizes he is trembling and hates himself for it. He feels the cold stone at his back and presses against it. He lifts his chin and meets the mocking blue gaze of the Light Bearer.

"Crowley, isn't it?" Lucifer says. His voice is soft, silken. He holds the demon's gaze and lifts a hand to smooth the lapel of Crowley's coat.

A small, tight nod is all the response he's capable of.

"A crossroads demon," Lucifer muses. "On the throne of hell."

Crowley's heart beats faster against his ribs. He parts his lips to speak, but no sound emerges. He lets out a small, shaky breath and Lucifer chuckles.

"I admire balls and determination," he says. "And you would have to have the biggest pair I've ever seen on a created demon."

Crowley scowls at that; finds his voice. "I was not created!" the words are more of a whisper than a growl, and he winces.

"No?" Lucifer steps closer, his body pressed against Crowley's. He leans in, his nose touching the flesh at the side of Crowley's neck as he inhales. He pulls back, his blue eyes registering surprise, and renewed interest. "You disguise it well," he says. "I seriously couldn't detect the angel scent under all that sulfur. And, I have to say, the demon face you wear under this..." Running his hand over Crowley's chest. "Impressive." The hand slides up, coming to rest around Crowley's neck.

The demon swallows hard. In his head, he hears the crunch of bone when Lucifer broke Rowena's neck. He grits his teeth, meets the archangel's gaze unflinchingly. Lucifer leans in, his lips a breath away from Crowley's. "I know what you've done with this vessel," he whispers. "How you lust for the beautiful Castiel."

Crowley pulls in a sharp breath as the hand on his throat tightens. He licks his lips, pinned helplessly in place. So much power surrounds him. It's like an electrical current; humming, sparking static shocks along his spine. He feels every hair at the nape of his neck rise to it. Lucifer moves his head ever so slightly and their lips meet.

Crowley makes a mewling sound in his throat that would embarrass him if he was thinking straight. His eyes slip closed and he sways forward leaning against Lucifer, helpless, drowning in the sensation.

Lucifer's tongue darts in little teasing licks, flicking across Crowley's bottom lip until he opens to him, but instead of delving within the demon's mouth, Lucifer sucks Crowley's lower lip into his mouth and savages it with his teeth, the bite hard enough to draw blood. Crowley groans, buckling at the knees and strong arms go around him, holding him up while the archangel plunders his mouth.

Crowley's head is swimming by the time Lucifer releases him. He sags back against the wall, panting. He's terrified and achingly aroused. His cock strains at the zipper of his tailored pants. He looks up, meeting the archangel's eyes. He reads lust and amusement and the smallest trace of contempt in them. He looks away.

"I suppose you want your throne back," he says, staring at the floor.

"Do you?" Lucifer paces to the sideboard. Helps himself to Crowley's whiskey. He turns to look at Crowley, wiping a trace of blood from his lip with a thumb. He sucks it with a filthy, slurping sound and then washes the blood down with a mouthful of Craig. "Why does everyone assume they have the slightest inkling of what I want?

Crowley has no answer. He pushes off from the wall, tries to pull himself upright and regain his composure.

"Hell?" Lucifer shrugs. "Been there, done that. Got the coffee mug." He chuckles darkly. "I think you're doing an adequate job of running it." He walks over to Crowley, presses the glass to his lips and feeds him a sip of Whiskey. "Let's you and I be...friends. Bedfellows, yes?"

Crowley narrows his eyes. "And the catch?"

Lucifer snorts "Ever the negotiator. No catch...well, one teeny tiny one, perhaps." He lifts a hand, runs the pad of his thumb across Crowley's bitten lip, an ice-cold flash of grace and the wound is gone. "It won't even be that unpleasant. I mean, you already _like_ this vessel."

"So, I run hell, you fuck me and… and that's it?"

"For now." Lucifer smiles but his eyes remain cold. "And then, when I call, you come."

Crowley feels something colder than Lucifer's grace clench at the pit of his stomach, but he ignores it. He meets the archangel's eyes.

"All right."

"Perfect." Lucifer leans in for another kiss. At the very moment his lips touch Crowley's he is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this story to have another chapter. Maybe there will be more yet, but I am saying this is 2/2 because I don't know for sure that there's more. Anyway, this came to me, so I wrote it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lucifer has the worst possible taste in music. It almost makes Crowley repent of all the times he rolled his eyes at Castiel's selections of Vivaldi, Schumann and Bach. He would give his left bollock for even one concerto right now! At least that music had _structure._ The _racket_ Lucifer favours gives Crowley a headache. More. It gives him just...an ache! He scowls crouching in filth in the kennel the light bearer has consigned him to. If it wasn't for the gag in his mouth, he'd puke. He frets at the collar and chain around his neck, gnaws incessantly on the leather gag. Maybe he can chew through it.

 _And the bastard lied to me!_ Crowley bites down hard on the leather tab between his teeth. The one thing Lucifer has never been, is a liar. Despite being named the father of lies, in all the centuries that Crowley has known him, the archangel has never stooped to untruths. There has always been a sense of nobility -- a higher purpose behind his actions. Crowley makes an involuntary sound of disgust.

He cringes, closes his eyes. He holds his breath. Has Lucifer heard? Crowley huddles into himself. The last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself. It's better if Lucifer forgets that he exists.

Heartbeats stutter in the uneasy silence. Crowley clenches his teeth on the gag. _Nothing._ Maybe he has gotten away with it.

Then, one sharp, crisp sound on the quiet air of the throne room. Lucifer snapping his fingers.

The metal grate securing Crowley's kennel slides up, he is rolled out on his platform.

"Something on your mind, pup?"

Crowley raises his eyes only far enough to focus on Lucifer's feet. He shakes his head, swallows hard.

Lucifer stands up. Shiny black leather shoes pace towards him. Crowley makes himself as small as possible.

"C'mon, we're friends, remember? You can tell me what you think. I'm all about hearing the opinions of my...ohh, but wait. You're not one of my generals anymore, are you, _pet_?"

The quick movement of a hand in his peripheral vision makes Crowley flinch. He hates himself for it. He tries to straighten a little, hampered by the chain tethering him. He winces, eyelids fluttering in fear as Lucifer pulls the gag from his mouth.

"Speak."

The command rankles, but Crowley knows better than to defy it.

"I was thinking of the old days," he says. No point in lying. Lucifer would see through it and Crowley knows how that will end.

"We had some good times, you and I." Lucifer paces around him. His fingers comb through Crowley's hair. The demon tries not to cower. He can never tell if the archangel means to caress or to smite him. He used to think that death was the worst fate that could befall him. Until Lucifer smote him, and let him live.

"I _chose you!_ " Crowley means to growl the words, but they come out more like a whine. He grits his teeth. "You promised us so much! You were…"

"Go on?" A silken purr full of menace. "What was I?"

Crowley trembles, even as defiance and resentment roil within him. Dammit, he's going to say it and hang the consequences because this _this_ pitiable thing is _not_ the Lucifer he followed. Is _not_ the one he forsook paradise for.

"You were _worthy!"_  he snarls. "You were great! There was honor in following you. Now, look at you! You've become a petty grizzling _brat_ with daddy issues! You wonder why I rose up against you? You're _surprised_ that someone would want to overthrow you?" He bites off the torrent of words, half cringes at the archangel's feet.

Slow applause breaks the dread filled silence.

"Bravo! That's probably the most honest thing you've said, Puppy." Lucifer crouches in front of him, making eye contact. "You deserve a reward." Castiel's handsome features twist in a cruel smile. "Simmons, get him cleaned up. Puppy gets to sleep on daddy's bed tonight!"

Crowley chokes, almost swallowing his own tongue as he sucks in a terrified gasp. _Fuck…_


	3. Chapter 3

Lucifer is not a gentle sex partner. He has a predilection for certain perversions which leave Crowley's own hedonistic preferences in the shade. 

The erstwhile King of hell slumps on the floor at the archangel's feet. He's bloodied, bruised and broken on the outside, whilst the demon within is scarred, seared and contorted with shades of agony that he has never experienced. He lived through it. Lucifer made certain of that. He drove Crowley to his limits, but never pushed beyond them.

Quivering, prone before his 'master.' Crowley daren't move or make a sound. Smothering the groans of pain that press behind his teeth, he waits for Lucifer to leave. 

A booted foot in the small of his back forces a whimper from between Crowley's lips. He waits and prays for the crushing force that will sever his spine and deliver the death denied to him so far. 

"Don't get dressed," Lucifer murmurs. "Present yourself in the throne room just as you are. I'd like the others to have a chance to see...how I reward defiance."

Crowley closes his eyes, presses his lips harder together. Hatred, resentment, rage. They bubble together inside him, and the agonized creature within the broken vessel rails against this new humiliation.

"Did you hear me?" Lucifer's heel grinds into his flesh.

"Yes. Master."

"Don't keep me waiting."

Crowley stays where he is on the floor, listening to the measured tread as Lucifer leaves the room. When silence has fallen, the demon slowly drags himself to his knees, and then uses a chair to haul himself onto his feet. He glances around the chamber.  _ His chamber! _ It has changed since Lucifer took it over. There is no fire in the grate. Crowley's habitual decanter of whiskey is gone. The room is lined with mirrors. 

"Lucifer always was a vain bastard." Crowley avoids looking into the reflective surfaces. He doesn't need a reminder of his abasement. "All that perfect cherubim hype when he was young...the way God coddled and petted him. Any wonder he grew up to be an entitled, selfish prat?" Realizing he spoke aloud, Crowley casts another, furtive glance around the room and then, his steps dragging, makes his way towards the door. He knows better than to expect any sympathy for his plight. There are more than a few demons in hell who have lived for the day that their "King" is brought so low.

He walks, head and eyes down, to the door of the throne room, but once there, he gathers the shreds of his pride like a mantle and steps into the room with his chin high. His eyes sweep the room, daring anyone to jeer at him.

Lucifer slouches on the throne. He looks bored. His eyes come to rest on Crowley and he smirks. "Come," he gestures and then points to the floor in front of the throne. "Sit."

There are only a few demons present. Crowley only knows the name of one of them. A she devil named Simmons. One of his most loyal minions, it pains him to think she could change allegiance so easily. He catches her eye as he moves to sit at Lucifer's feet. She meets and holds his gaze for a beat longer than might be considered safe, given the circumstances. Crowley narrows his eyes, asking a silent question. She nods, the barest inclination of her head and he raises one eyebrow.

Lucifer fetches Crowley a vicious kick and the moment is gone. Simmons drops her gaze to the floor and returns to aimlessly milling about with the other demons. 

"Tell our subjects why you appear before them in such a state," Lucifer says.

"It's my reward, Master." Crowley answers mechanically. His mind is preoccupied with the silent exchange with Simmons. Can he look for help there? Will she betray Lucifer for him? "For defiance," he adds, risking another glance at Simmons who doesn't acknowledge him.

He is certain he didn't imagine it. 

For the first time, Crowley allows himself to hope.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when a story comes to you, it comes in bits and pieces and is not even in the order it should be read. That is what has happened here. This chapter was originally posted as a stand alone oneshot/coda for the episode Hell's Angel, but now I believe it belongs in this story.
> 
> Rather than delete the stand alone and lose all the kudos and comments, I have decided to link to it from this chapter.  
> I hope this is allowed.
> 
> I apologize to those who have already read "Useless" but my muse can be a cow at times!

You can find the original post here [Useless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491572)

 

It wasn’t often that he asked for help. He had his pride. In fact, pride was quite possibly the only thing he did have left to him now. He’d gone to them; the bloody Winchesters and not begged. No, he never begged…except when, but he wasn’t going to think about that. No, he’d gone to them and bargained for their help. A fair deal. The Shoma for their assistance.

He should have realized it wouldn’t work. Those idiots were no match for Lucifer. Lucifer. Arrogant, smart mouthed, pain in the jaxie Lucifer! Crowley grits his teeth until he can hear the enamel cracking.

He’d launched himself out of his vessel with such force that the poor old literary agent screamed. He was not usually so inconsiderate. The man had pretty much handed over the reins to him, after all. Never interfered, never demanded his life back. Crowley would buy him a new suit. That might appease.

He’d seen a moment of vulnerability, a crack in Lucifer’s armour and had taken it. He needed to get his pigeon back. Just as Castiel was no use to him dead, he was even less use possessed by the goddamned light-bearer.

Crowley closes his eyes. His jaw works and this time, there’s a definite chip of tooth cracked loose in his mouth. He’ll heal that later, too.

And it had all been useless anyway. Castiel wasn’t interested in tossing the devil to the curb. He was curled around his television set, watching some black and white drivel about everything being okay.

“Risk your skin for a stupid parrot,” Crowley mutters. “What did you expect, really?”

And now, Lustiel is gone hell knows where with Amara and Crowley’s stuck on the lam with her.

As if reading his mind, Rowena picks that moment to speak. “Cup of tea, dear?”

Crowley hisses between his aching teeth. He gives no more response than that.

She pours anyway.

He studies her, sees flashes of the moment when Lucifer, wearing Castiel’s face broke her neck. He flinches from the sight, even now. Why doesn’t he hate her? He should hate her. She’s not even his mother, really. She’s McLeod’s mother. And it’s true enough his twisted spirit and the soul of that particular human are intricately bound. But She. Is. Not. His. Mother!

He sips the tea. It’s oddly comforting.

He should hate her, and he should want her dead more than he does. He shouldn’t be so glad that the bitch survived.

It’s too bloody complex and it gives him a headache. He stares into his cup, watching steam curl up and away from the milky surface of the drink.

What now?

“Useless,” he whispers.

“There there, pet.” Rowena dimples at him over her cup. “It’ll all come out in the wash. You just wait and see.”


	5. Deus ex machina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: I know that _"Don't Call Me Shurley"_ was not the end of Amara, and that in the show, that final showdown is still to come, but frankly, I am over the darkness! So I have decided to skip ahead in the story and write this chapter from Crowley's POV looking back on the final battle._
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy!_
> 
>  
> 
> _As always, please comment and let me know what you think. Comments are rocket fuel for authors_

So, it's over. Amara's gone. The Winchesters, for once, are alive and mostly intact. Lucifer, well there's a rum turnup for the books. Of all the endings Crowley might have imagined for the Light Bearer, a return to heaven hadn't been one. He frowns, sips his whiskey and gazes into the fire.

It seems that living on earth, rubbing shoulders with his creations had taught Go...Chuck, that human beings actually _weren't_ worth bowing down to after all. That, and Lucifer's role in assisting to defeat Amara had tipped the scales of parental affection in the archangel's favour.

"It wasn't even a war, in the end," Crowley muses. The hellhound at his feet stirs, lifts her head from her paws and tips her head to one side.

"Oh, come on," Crowley growls at her. "It was the biggest feat of _deus ex machina_ ever perpetrated. Even _you_ should be able to work that out."

The hound whines dolefully, looks towards the door for a moment and then drops her head back onto her paws with a heavy, unhappy sigh.

Crowley finds himself following her gaze, but he quickly looks away from the empty doorway and turns his eyes back to the fire. He sits, thus, in brooding silence for a long time.

When God returned to earth, Hell shook. Every demon, every hound, every damned soul knew it in an instant. Michael, heretofore huddled muttering in a corner of the shattered cage loosed a roar of triumph and burst out of hell in a blaze of light that vaporized four thousand demons in his wake.

Crowley deemed it prudent to batten down the gates of the pit and wait out whatever was to come next. The last time his demons had gone to war against the _son_ of a deity had not ended well. Best not to engage the sire. It was Chuck's fight anyway. Nothing to do with Crowley. Even when he'd been the angel Asmodeus, he'd kept well out of the familial disputes. He prided himself on his ability to remain alive by avoiding pointless conflicts. Choose your battles. That was his motto.

So the whole Chuck Vs Amara smackdown had gone down without Crowley's involvement. Rowena, bless her black, shrivelled, loyal heart had fought beside Lucifer until the end.

It makes Crowley chuckle to think that his evil b-witch of a mother found herself fighting on the side of light at the last. Irony has always tickled him.

So, it's over. The King is in his hell, Chuck is in his heaven and all is…

Juliet heaves herself up onto her haunches. She lays a paw on Crowley's lap. She barks at him.

"Cut that out!" he snaps. "There's nothing I can do about it. He's...gone."

It's true. When Lucifer returned to heaven, he took the vessel, and presumably, Castiel with him. This information had been relayed, with ill grace by Dean Winchester in a brief phone call two days after the "war" ended. Crowley had no idea, at the time, why Dean would think he'd want to know that. He still has no idea. It's not like the stupid parrot means anything to _him_. It's the damned hellhound that can't seem to move on.

Juliet growls, licks her chops and Crowley shoves her away. "You're slobbering all over my new suit! Go to your basket!"

The hound reluctantly slinks away and Crowley stares into his glass for a moment before lifting it to his lips and draining the contents. He gets to his feet and walks out of his private chambers. Enough reminiscing. He has a hell to run.


	7. Burnin' Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burnin' Whiskey, oh how that whiskey burns!  
> When my baby left, to whiskey I had to turn.  
> Ruby Starr and Grey Ghost  
> [Burnin' Whiskey Youtube](https://youtu.be/baW5GmIbXjY)

"But, my contract wasn't up! I still had four years left," The fat banker, Pendleton stands before Crowley's throne. He has chutzpah. Crowley can't recall another time when a damned soul demanded to speak with management. He quirks an eyebrow and sits a little straighter in his seat.

"You _did_ read the contract, before you signed and sealed it?"

"Of course I read it!" Pendleton growls. Crowley recalls he brokered this contract personally.

"Then you'll be familiar with the clause on page twenty, section 2 subsection 8 which states that the party of the first part offers no insurance against accident, stupidity or…" his gaze rakes over the portly soul. "Gluttony."

"What? There was no such clause!"

" _Au contraire,_ my friend." Crowley holds out a hand to the demon behind the throne who hands him a rolled up parchment. The king unrolls it, and points to the very clause he has mentioned. "You see?"

Blustering, the banker shakes his head. "That's not there on my copy. You! You swindled me!"

A chuckle. The king gives him a mildly pained look. "What else would you expect from a demon? Sorry. We're shorthanded, having something of a recruitment drive. Had to call in a couple thousand contracts early. Call it a foreclosure. You'll understand. Hard times."

"I-I-I'll Sue! This is outrageous!"

"You'll sue? To whom?" Crowley waves him off lazily. "Take him away."  He watches dispassionately as the fat banker is dragged away. Idly, he wonders how many of the man's clients in life would have paid dearly to see this. Poetic justice. He loves it.

"Next!" Reaching for his drink, Crowley pauses with the glass halfway to his lips as his next 'petitioner' is admitted to the chamber. He narrows his eyes and his posture tenses almost imperceptibly.

"That was unfair, even for you."

Crowley snorts. "Do you want to act as the man's legal defense?" He drains the glass and sets it down. "I vaguely recall something about you and law. What're you doing here, anyway? The darkness is gone, the world's safe again, why are you bothering me?" He pauses, his eyes narrow almost to slits. "Please, don't tell me you two knuckleheads have managed to unleash still more chaos and destruction on the world. What is it this time? The bloody Behemoth?"

"What's the Behemoth?" Sam Winchester gives him a puzzled look.

"If you don't already know, then trust me, you don't want to find out." Crowley leans back in his chair. "So. Out with it. To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"I came looking for Castiel."

Crowley makes an exaggerated process out of looking around his throne room. "Well, as you can see, he's not here. By the way, who let you in? Short staffed or not, that demon's head will roll."

"I found my own way," Sam takes a step nearer the throne. "Castiel's not answering prayers. We...Dean's worried about him. We thought you might have heard something."

"And the angel communicates with me above Dean, why, exactly?"

"Because you and Castiel have…" Sam pauses, bites his lip and then goes on. "You have a different kind of relationship with him than Dean or me"

Crowley half turns his head, a look of amused query crossing his features. "I do?"

Sam nods. "Castiel told me…"

"You were there, Moose, when I tried to get Castiel to kick Lucifer's arse to the kirb?"

"Yeah, but…"

Crowley shakes his head. "Whatever the angel might have told you, it seems that no longer stands. He wouldn't even _look_ at me!" Crowley scowls. "I meant less to him than his stupid television. He couldn't have made that any clearer. He _sat there and did nothing_ while Lucifer beat the living shit out of me." The demon comes to his feet. "So don't _you_ come into _my hell_ prattling on about SPECIAL RELATIONSHIPS!"

To Crowley's annoyance, but not to his surprise, Sam doesn't back down. The moose takes a step forward.

"Are you done?"

Crowley scowls at him. He ought to vaporize the audacious beanstalk. He knows he won't, though. Despite whatever he had with Castiel being over, he respects the memory of it enough that he won't harm the angel's friend. Tempting as the idea might be.

"I can't help you," he says.

"You _can._ What you _mean_ is you won't."

"Potato, potahto." Crowley pours himself another drink.

"Look, I get it." Sam moves closer, getting into Crowley's personal space, and the demon bares his teeth, annoyance settling around him like a cloak. He rethinks vaporizing the twit. "You're scared and I don't blame you…" Crowley tenses. He rounds on the hunter.

_"Scared?!"_

"Castiel rejected you the last time you saw him. That's tough, but, think about the circumstances! I've shared headspace with Lucifer. I...It's impossible to think, impossible to…" He frowns and bows his head. "He just fills up every space inside of you until...until you can't even breathe. Castiel wasn't in his right mind when you saw him. Even _you_ said that. Now. Now that Lucifer...if Lucifer's gone…"

Crowley closes his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Why does this lanky arsed moron have to make so much sense? He downs his drink in one and pours another. Maybe he can get drunk and not have to listen to anymore of this.

"Crowley!" Sam snatches the glass and tosses the contents into the fireplace where the alcohol creates a brief, bright flare of blue.

Crowley stares at it. Sees reflected in the flames, a pair of glowing blue eyes alight with grace and power. Hears Castiel say his name. He shakes himself out of the moment and turns his back on Sam. "Get out," he murmurs.

"Crowley…"

_"LEAVE!"_

Crowley stands, hands clenched into fists at his sides until Sam Winchester's footsteps fade into silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be fun to bring back Pendleton for a cameo. He is the fat banker seen cutting a deal with Crowley in Season 5 in the episode Abandon all Hope. I decided to call in his contract. After all, Michael vaporized 4000 demons when he broke out of hell a chapter or two back.
> 
> Economic downturn and all that. *evil grin*


	8. Homecoming part 1

Heaven has changed since he was last here. The heaven Crowley remembers was a festival, a celebration, a song; a perpetual chorus of love and adulation pouring glory upon the one who brought the universe into being. Now, he walks along sterile white halls lined with doors and thinks he might as well be in any hospital on earth.

It's because of the souls, of course. When Crowley last inhabited heaven, no human soul had ever darkened its threshold. Those who obeyed God's laws, upon death, were assigned a place in paradise. Which as Purgatory is hell adjacent, is adjacent to heaven, but not IN it. That had changed, presumably after God sent the begotten, the _other_ Star of morning * to earth to act as some kind of go between, elevating a mere human soul to a status worthy of heaven. All well and good while God-Chuck was in residence. Angels would have had little say on the matter. Not so, after his departure. This pasteurized shadow of a heaven smacks of Angelic construction. None of them would want to sully their feathers by having contact with a human soul. _Well none, that is except for..._

"Asmodai." Lucifer's name for him in the long ago. But it is not Lucifer who speaks it. At the sound of that voice full of love Crowley experiences a deep seated ache. He flinches, but he doesn't break his stride. He continues as though he hasn't heard.

"Crowley." Something shivers inside of him. His step falters.

"Please." Crowley stops. He turns around. Meets the sad blue eyes and pulls himself to his full height, smothering the rush of feelings with a scowl.

"Welcome home." Chuck reaches a hand towards him, but Crowley steps away shaking his head.

"I'm not home," he says.

Chuck frowns and nods an acknowledgement. "I know." He sighs. "You're here for Castiel."

"He _is_ here, then. He's alive."

"Yes." Chuck looks at a point somewhere over Crowley's shoulder. "He's been here since Lucifer came back."

Crowley lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I suppose you're here to stop me." He drops an angel blade into his hand as he speaks. "I expected resistance. Can't say I expected _you_ to mount it though."

"Stop you?" Chuck seems confused. "Why would I do that? Castiel's not bound to heaven. He's chosen to stay."

That stings more than it should. Crowley lifts his chin and pushes the pain away. "Where is he?"

"I could give you directions," Chuck says, "But it might be easier if I just…"

Crowley finds himself standing in a garden. Chuck is nowhere in sight. He is momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden switch from aseptic white walls and floors to vivid green grass and blue skies. He closes his eyes. He's used to teleportation, but usually does so under his own steam.

Something flutters above him, he looks up to see a bright red kite soaring overhead. Birds are singing, and Crowley can hear the hum of bees among the daisies and clover in the grass. He takes a step forward, and then another, pushing his way through a small thicket of shrubs.

A human stands in the middle of a swath of lawn. He holds the kite string. He smiles up at the fluttering red diamond, all of his attention focused on it.

Beyond the human, seated on a park bench, Castiel watches the man fly the toy.

At the sight of the angel, Crowley gasps. There is an odd mix of feelings bubbling within him. Relief, anger, elation. Fear, remembered pain, and something close to panic. He takes a half-step back, beginning to rethink his decision to come here.

Blue eyes, distracted by the movement from watching the human male seek Crowley out. Castiel comes to his feet with a soft cry. His face is suffused with dismay.

Angel and Demon regard each other in silence while in the middle of the lawn, the autistic man flies his kite, oblivious.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * There is a suggestion, in scripture that at the time of creation there was more than one heavenly being known as Morning Star (a title also given to Lucifer). In the book of Job, when God challenges Job to make a defense for his accusations against God, he says: "Were you there at the creation, when the morning stars sang together?"
> 
> In the Book of Revelation Christ is referred to as "The Bright Morning Star." In fact, the Bible draws parallels between Lucifer and Christ in other ways as well, referring to Christ as The Lion of Judah, and Lucifer as "The roaring Lion who seeks to devour the faithful." It is an interesting study to make a comparison of these two most beloved of God's "children." Further reading can be found here as a jumping off point <http://www.gotquestions.org/morning-star.html>


	9. Homecoming part 2

"You can't be here." Castiel is standing face to face with Crowley in the flicker of an eyelash.

The demon holds his arms out, palms up. "Yet, here I am."

"You're in danger. My father…"

"Knows I'm here. Told me where to find you."

"Then, my brothers and sisters."

"No match, Kitten."

Castiel falls silent. He lowers his gaze, staring at the well sculpted lawn at his feet. After a moment he looks up. "Have you come to kill me?"

The resignation in Castiel's tone, the defeat evident in his posture make Crowley wince. He scowls restraining the urge to reach out and shake the fool by the scruff of his neck. He doesn't speak for a long moment. Pressing his lips into a hard line until he reigns in the flash of temper.

"Much as I know you'd like that, I haven't," he says at last.

"Like it?" Startled blue eyes meet his own. "Why would…"

"Oh, come on, Castiel! We both know you've got a death wish the size of Alaska!"

Castiel looks at the ground, the trees around them, the autistic man, and then lets his gaze travel upwards to stare at the red kite dancing at the end of its string.

"Why _have_ you come?" Castiel is still looking away from him, at the stupid kite.

Crowley frowns and shrugs, "I'm starting to ask myself that same question," he says. "Answers, for one, I suppose." He steps in closer to the angel, forcing Castiel to look at him. "Why?"

Castiel lets out a breath. His shoulders slump even further, if that is possible He closes his eyes for a moment. All such human actions. Crowley reflects for a moment on just how much his angel has changed in the years that he has known him.

"It was...foolish," Castiel breathes. "But I thought that I could help." He opens his eyes and meets Crowley's gaze. "I...made an error of judgement and people I care deeply about where hurt as a result."

Crowley says nothing.

"I was...awake. I saw. _Felt_ . Everything he did… My brother...and I couldn't stop him. He's the most powerful of us all. Ironic. That Evil can be stronger than good, but I thought...Family counts. It means, has to mean _something!_ I looked up to him, admired him, before he fell. I ... loved him."

The demon shakes his head. "You're a bigger idiot than I took you for. Lucifer stopped being your brother the moment that mark was put on him! You _saw_ what that thing did to Dean. How could you possibly think…" Crowley throws his hands in the air and turns away, pacing distractedly.

"Dean fought it. In the end, he didn't hurt Sam. That was down to love." Castiel's eyes plead with him, but Crowley is furious beyond words and refuses to give an inch.

"Lucifer isn't Dean! He didn't fight! _I_ was there for that part. He basked in the effects of the mark. He gloried in every twisted bit of perversity it drove him to! He slaughtered, he maimed." Breaking off his restless pacing, Crowley gets right into Castiel's space. "He twisted and broke every angel who fell with him and he _enjoyed doing it!"_

Blue eyes shy away from Crowley's and a look of regret crosses Castiel's face. "I couldn't stop him from hurting you. He amplified every scream of torment he caused you. He _laughed_ when I begged and pleaded with him to spare you."

"Well, now you know who he really was." The demon's tone is bitter. "I came back for you, after I got away. I _came back!_ I didn't see you pleading with him then!"

Castiel bows his head. "I...didn't know that that was real," he says. "I'd given up by then. Shut down. He was burning through my vessel. I felt...frayed." His voice dips lower, rougher even than usual. "It was easier if I stayed quiet. He left me alone then." He looks up. "You shouldn't have come back. You shouldn't have come here, now. I failed everyone. You should go, Crowley."

"Oh, spare me the histrionics," Crowley snarls. "So you come from a dysfunctional family! Your daddy abandoned you and your brother was an arsehole. Boo hoo! Get over it like the rest of us have had to!" He pauses. "I'll go, but there's something I want to show you before I do."

Crowley takes a deep breath and sheds the glamour he wears beneath his vessel. The demonic facade fades away leaving a scarred and broken angel, twisted beyond recognition. He unfurls shredded, broken wings, the feathers twisted and deformed, incapable of flight.

"You think Lucifer hurt _you?_  The things he did to me after he got out of the cage were nothing compared to what happened after the fall."

Castiel makes a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan. He reaches out to lightly touch a mangled feather on the demon's wing. "They're...they're beautiful." He swallows hard.

Crowley flinches at the touch, but doesn't pull away. "There were no demons at the fall," he says. "Lucifer made us." He shakes his head. "They're not beautiful, not anymore. Don't try to be kind."

"I'm not." Castiel combs his fingers through twisted, frayed emerald green feathers, trying to preen them into place.

Crowley closes his eyes as a small shiver runs through his wings. He speaks, barely above a whisper. "He tore out my grace, broke my wings. Flayed me alive." A small bitter laugh. "The price for my loyalty."

"I...didn't know."

A snort. "No one knows. I've hidden my true form for millennia."

"Even from me. You've seen me at my worst. Why would you not show me?"

"Because this," Crowley gestured to himself. "It's not who I am, now."

"Still a part of who you are."

Crowley shakes his head and tucks the wings away, re-assuming his demonic glamour. He stays silent and the angel turns his head, watching the Autistic man.

"Why couldn't Lucifer be happy with what our father gave him?"

Crowley scoffs. "What your father gave him was _torment!"_

"He had no reason to be jealous of humanity." Blue eyes come back to focus on Crowley.

"Oh, for the love of...you're not still buying that load of bollocks?!" Crowley passes a hand across his face. "Lucifer's fall had _nothing_ to do with the bloody humans!"

"Lucifer _himself_ said that it did."

"And you believed him, of course, you stupid lummox!" Crowley pushes up into Castiel's space again. "The whole bloody fiasco was your father's fault. If he could have reconciled with his sister, none of it would have happened! But he had a point to prove, didn't he? He chose to shut her away and use his so called favourite son as a gatekeeper!"

Wide blue eyes hold Crowley's gaze for a long moment, but the angel says nothing. In the depths of his eyes, Crowley reads confusion, fear, and regret. The demon sighs.

"You don't belong here, Castiel."

"Where do I belong?"

Crowley shrugs. "That's something you have to decide for yourself," he says.

"I used to think...to wish…" Castiel bows his head. "I was most at home in hell," he finishes quietly.

Crowley smiles a little. He studies the angel for a moment. "Well, I don't have a home there anymore. I don't have a throne."

Castiel raises pained eyes to his. "I know. I'm…"

Crowley waves a dismissive hand. He doesn't want to hear apologies. Doesn't need pity. He's always landed on his feet. This time is no different. "A temporary setback," he says.

"I've hurt Sam and Dean. I can't go there."

"It was the Moose who asked me to come and talk to you." Crowley shoves his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.

"Oh." Castiel's face morphs through several expressions. Surprise, hurt, confusion before settling for deadpan. "I thought…"

"I _would_ have come anyway, eventually."

"We could stay here."

"I don't like kites." Crowley chuckles. "Besides, I left heaven behind a long time ago, Kitten. I'm not about to return now. I _have_ houses on earth. Well, that's to say, the vessel does. He won't mind us using them."

"Crowley."

The demon smirks. "That's my name," he says.

Castiel frowns, fidgeting. He adjusts his tie, succeeding in only making it more crooked. "What do you want?"

"Many things," Crowley says. "I want my throne back, I want respect. I want the bloody Winchesters off my back…"

"Then, perhaps you should go back to hell. Regain your throne."

The demon scowls. "No! I didn't come all this way, put my feet on these hallowed halls, sully myself with heaven's grace, just to show you my wings and slink off back to hell alone!"

A tiny smile graces the angel's lips for an instant and then is gone. He meets Crowley's eyes, soberly. "I know what Lucifer did to you while he wore my vessel."

Crowley snorts. "What do you want, a gold star?"

"No. I want to know if that will change what we were to each other?"

The logical, intellectual part of Crowley understands that it was Lucifer who beat him, raped him and inflicted transports of pain and torment upon him, but the fact remains that he did so while wearing, and twisting and using Castiel's face, and hands and voice. There is another part of him that wants to wince whenever the angel stands too close. "I don't know," he says.

"But you want to find out?" Castiel leans in a fraction closer and there is something in that movement in the vocal inflection that sends a bolt of terror through Crowley. He flinches and takes an involuntary step back. He swallows hard and one hand balls into a fist at his side.

Castiel pulls back as though Crowley has struck him. He half turns away, but not before Crowley has read the hurt and confusion in his features. "Tell Sam I'm fine," The angel says.

Crowley shakes his head. He won't let the angel give up so easily. "I came back for you," he says. "Even after all he did. Even though I knew he'd probably kill me. I came back because I knew what he was capable of. I knew how he could hurt you and…" He relives that scene in vivid detail. Castiel's detachment. His refusal to engage. His failure to stop Lucifer from beating the daylights out of Crowley. "I thought he'd broken you."

"He has," Castiel replies. "I'm not who you think I am. Not anymore."

"Don't give up, Kitten." Crowley is as close to pleading as he ever gets. "Don't let him win."

Another faint smile crosses the chapped lips and is gone. Crowley clutches at the flicker of hope. "Don't give up on me. On us."

Castiel says nothing. He turns in a slow circle, taking in the scene. The park, the gardens, the autistic man and his kite. Then he turns back to Crowley and his solemn blue eyes meet and hold those of the demon. Still silent, he nods. Once, a tiny inclination of his head.

Crowley pulls one hand from the pocket of his coat and reaches for Castiel's arm.

A moment later, the park is stirred by a small gust of wind. The autistic man turns his attention away from the kite for just a moment. He glances around, puzzled. He looks back at the kite and slowly uncurls his fingers from the string. He smiles as the kite breaks loose and flutters to the ground.

The Autistic man leaves it where it falls and walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another work in my Crowley is Asmodeus Headcanon. For others in this headcanon see Dirty Little Secret and On The Brink. I explain more about my headcanon in the author's notes on Chapter 34 of On The Brink.
> 
> Please comment if you enjoy this, and let me know what you think. Even if you don't like it, and there is some specific way you feel it could be improved, I am happy to read that, too. I love comments and try my best to reply to them!


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